


don't need your love

by jdphoenix



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s01e20 Nothing Personal, F/M, Unrequited Skye | Daisy Johnson/Grant Ward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24239647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: With Simmons sick and recovering in the medpod, things go differently after they leave Providence.
Relationships: Jemma Simmons/Grant Ward
Comments: 8
Kudos: 66





	don't need your love

“Something wrong?” Ward—the filthy lying murderous Nazi traitor—asks. Like he actually cares about her or her feelings or anything at all except-

Breathe. She needs to _breathe_. He’s asked her a question and she needs to answer it before he gets suspicious. She tears her eyes away from the controls and the little meter telling them just how far they are from the ground aka safety.

“Yeah,” she says, figuring there’s no way she can out-lie him and it’s not like he’d believe her even if he _wasn’t_ Hydra. “Everything’s just gone to shit, you know? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I finally felt like I belonged somewhere and—boom! Blows up in my face. Like always.”

 _The truth_ , he told her once, _is the best lie. You know the truth, so use it wherever you can. It’ll keep your head clear and keep your enemy from getting suspicious._

She just hopes that lesson wasn’t a lie too.

He smiles. That sweet, caring, _disgusting_ smile that made her think she might actually-

Wow, no. No thinking like that or she just might barf and blow her own cover.

“You do belong,” he says. “Maybe not with SHIELD but—with me. I hope?”

It would be a hell of a lot easier to return his smile if he hadn’t taken her hand. She can’t stop thinking about Koenig and how the last thing he felt before he died was probably this hand-

Yeah, okay, she’s out.

“And with the team,” she says, hoping she comes off teasing instead of _fucking terrified_. She stands, shakes off his hand and tells herself not to wipe it on her jeans; there’s disinfectant in the lab, she can use a whole bottle of that. “Speaking of—someone should probably go downstairs to check on Simmons.”

Ward tries to stand. “I’ll come. I just need a sec to set the autopilot.”

“No! I mean—the military’s still looking for SHIELD vehicles. You gotta _stay on the stick_ to make sure they don’t notice us.”

The reference to one of their earliest bonding moments helps, but it’s really the way she rubs his shoulders that sells it. He smiles up at her, totally sure he’s seduced her.

At least she hopes he is, otherwise she and Simmons are both fucked.

“I’ll be back soon.” She doesn’t think he really needs the added reassurance, but she needs every second she can get to brace herself for this next part. “I just don’t want her waking up and freaking out because there’s _no one_ around and we’re in her least favorite place in the world.”

Ward’s brow furrows in confusion and it actually feels kinda good, doing that to him. Not great, but good enough she can use it to smile while she leans in.

“Thirty-five thousand feet, dummy.” She kisses his cheek, just under the cut Simmons told him would scar if he wasn’t careful.

Skye hopes her kiss is enough aggravation to reopen it so it does. Those cheekbones are wasted on him.

She does her best to flounce off like a typical girl in love, not like a woman who just escaped—albeit briefly—the clutches of a psychotic killer.

Truth be told, she doesn’t think she breathes between the cockpit and the medpod. Not until she sees for herself that Simmons is still there and her heart monitor is beeping away.

She’s alive.

He didn’t kill her.

 _Thank God_.

Skye wants to cry. She wants to lock the door and curl up in bed with Simmons and forget that their lives are in very real danger from the same man they’ve both trusted to protect them more times than she can count.

 _Breathe_ , she reminds herself.

If she cries, Ward will know. She could always pass it off as her emotions getting the best of her while she was down here checking on Simmons, but that’s a last resort. Ward thinks she’s in love with him and her best defense is pretending that’s actually true and she’s just so damn happy she hasn’t noticed he’s a _monster_. So for both of their sakes—hers and Simmons’—she sucks it up and pushes down her tears.

She can cry once Ward is locked up in the Cage or dead, she’s not picky at the moment.

There is good news—finally. Simmons is looking better. There’s more pink in her cheeks—and Skye actually feels herself smile, remembering when she used that to try to get out of this bed just a couple weeks ago—and she’s not sweating visibly or panting in her sleep. Skye touches her forehead and she’s no expert but it feels like her fever’s broken.

“You’re doing great,” she says, squeezing Simmons’ hand. “But you need to keep getting better, okay? We need you.” She looks down at that hand, the one that sewed her stitches and cleaned her wounds and was so strong when it pushed her back down into her pillows and told her she needed to rest. It’s scary, how lifeless it is now. “ _I_ need you. I don’t know what to do, Simmons. I’m really scared and the thing that scares me most of all is getting you hurt. So I need you to keep getting better and wake up so that we can get out of this together, okay?”

Simmons doesn’t respond.

Not surprising. The most she’s done since she passed out in Koenig’s interrogation room was to murmur something to Fitz about saving the monkeys. After that Trip—and Skye can only be grateful Ward’s ribs meant he couldn’t be the one—carried her in here. He diagnosed her with “probably just a cold” and pointed to their trek across the Yukon and Simmons’ complete lack of self-care as dual causes.

She just needed rest, he said. Her body was too exhausted to heal _and_ do the strenuous things like walking and talking and standing up after all she’d put it through the last few days.

And it looks like he was right. Her fever’s already breaking and Skye’s no doctor but her vitals are all in green instead of that annoying red color they kept flickering into before. It was probably just some 24-hour bug she would’ve gotten over with no trouble if she hadn’t-

“A 24-hour bug,” Skye says, looking at Simmons in some vain hope she’ll respond. Preferably to tell her her suspicions are ridiculous and unfounded. Since she doesn’t, Skye goes on. “Like Raina.”

A few hours after they took Raina into custody, they received word she was being transferred to a medical facility instead of the high-security lockup they’d sent her to. She was sick. Sick enough the prison doctors seriously thought she might die.

The next day, Raina escaped. It wasn’t until after she was long gone they found the tiny syringe hidden in the Cage’s mattress. Small enough to fit in a palm or even a hem, it had gone undetected when they searched her. Simmons found traces of whatever chemical she’d injected herself with and, after doing some of her science voodoo to make more, was able to figure out it was a man-made virus. One that would make the victim appear seriously sick just long enough for them to be transferred to a less secure facility for medical care.

Or for them to be unable to leave or fight back so a Hydra traitor could capture them and hand them over to his evil boss.

Shit.

.....

“You sure this is safe?” Skye asks, angling to look out the cockpit windows at the private airfield. They’re just lucky one of John’s covers has a standing account with this place and no one’s bothered to check the membership against Black Widow’s data dump.

“No,” Grant says, earning himself a terrified look. He chuckles and pulls her up from her seat and into his arms. Her only hesitation is to look back out the window, after that she relaxes in his arms.

He’s an idiot. He spent all that time she was checking on Simmons half-convinced she’d figured him out. He went over every conversation, every microexpression since that first phone call where she was so frantic and worried he’d been killed at the Fridge. Granted, there were a few signs, but his second assessment was the same as his initial one: she was just on edge, same as everyone is right now, Grant included—and that’s why he was second guessing himself.

But no, Skye’s got no idea.

It might be easier in the long run if she did. She won’t be happy when he takes them back to John instead of to the team, but she’ll understand once he explains. And it’ll help to have Simmons around. Not that she’ll be happy either, but she’ll have her science to keep her busy and, while Grant’s had months to learn how to work both of them, it’s no secret Simmons is the easier mark. Once he has her accepting it’s best for everyone if she just hails Hydra like a good little agent, Skye will follow along behind soon after.

He laces his fingers behind her back, swaying a little just because he’s too damn happy not to. He’s wanted to do this for months but his stupid cover was in the way. Soon, he’ll be free to do a lot more.

“It’s our best option,” he says, pitching his voice to be soothing. “Safe would be parking far outside the city, out in the country somewhere nobody’d ever notice the Bus. But the longer we’re away, the more chance someone does and I don’t like the idea of leaving Simmons alone, _period_. I’m not doing it longer than we have to.”

He tips his head to one side, considering. “How exact is that GPS?”

She blinks. “Why?”

“I’m just thinking, satellites look down. So what if we were a few hundred feet _above_ the diner? Would the GPS really know the difference? Then we wouldn’t have to even leave her.”

Her gaze drifts off over his shoulder. Her worry’s plain as day on her face while she considers and he lets his fingers trail up and down her spine, hoping to ease her fears.

“No,” she says heavily. “You’d need to get the angle _just_ right and we can’t waste fuel like that. Simmons will understand.”

“Right. Makes sense. Worth a shot though, right?”

She returns his smile easily and slips out of his arms. “I’m gonna go leave her a note, in case she wakes up.”

“And I’ll get the van ready.”

She hesitates at that but doesn’t bother to ask. She really is freaked about Simmons and, to be honest, Grant is too. As glad as he was to see Trip go with Coulson and the others, he wasn’t happy to have the only qualified medic leaving with Simmons still in the woods.

Maybe he’ll take them to one of the Cybertek offices instead of Cuba. Better facilities, better doctors—and better security. He’s not fool enough to think Skye _won’t_ try to run, at least initially.

John won’t be happy about the call, but he will understand it. Eventually. Grant plans what he’ll say to convince him while he spray paints over the logo on the side of the van. The hubcaps have tiny eagles on the bolts, but Grant’s hoping no one will bother to look at those.

Fucking SHIELD. Don’t they know they’re a _spy_ agency? You don’t see Hydra putting octopuses on every damn thing they own. They’re more subtle than that.

He hears the door at the back of the lab open and Skye’s footsteps crossing the tile floor.

“We’re all set,” Grant calls, easing to his feet. That crouch he was in wasn’t too bad while he was in it, but the getting out doesn’t do his ribs any favors. He breathes slow through the pain, forcing his lungs to expand further than they like. It hurts like hell, but it’s better than risking pneumonia. Once he’s satisfied, he lets out the breath just as slow, not wanting to strain his ribs the other way. “How’s the patient?”

“She’ll be better in a minute.”

It’s her tone that hits him first. Cold and hard and so unlike Skye it sets his hair on end. The words hit him at the same time he catches her movement in his peripheral vision. The arm coming up, straight and strong, legs braced shoulder-width apart. All of it just like he taught her.

And he was right. He really is an idiot because it all makes so little sense that he wastes valuable time on confusion instead of letting instinct move him where it wants.

Instinct catches up of course, it always does, but not in time to spare him a bullet in the arm.

Another ricochets off the cargo ramp—still raised, so he’s boxed in—and he hears it knock into the ceiling before making a dull impact.

“Skye?!” he bellows, afraid she’s been hit.

“Don’t even try it,” she says. She doesn’t sound like she’s in pain. So that’s something. “I found Koenig. What was left of him.”

He drops his head back against the van’s rear bumper. That is … not good. She sounds sick enough over the guy—who, for the record, was practically a stranger, how was he supposed to know she’d give a shit about him—it’ll probably add another month to his efforts to win her over. Great. Thanks, Koenig. Still a pain in the ass even in death.

“I can explain.”

“Explain what? That you’re Hydra? That you’ve been working for Garrett- _God_ , from the beginning, right?”

The cargo bay is prone to echoing, but not so much Grant can’t track her coming closer. She’s taking the long way around Lola, trying to give herself time to react to whatever she finds back here. Grant eases open the van’s back door and drops inside.

“So you knew about Mike. You told them where Ace was. You knew where they were keeping Coulson. You knew what they were _doing_ to him.”

With the door gently shut behind him, Grant’s got no way of seeing what he’s doing and no time to be careful about it. He grabs the first weapon he feels in the duffel he already stowed back here and trusts just the threat of it’ll be enough.

“You _let Quinn shoot me-_ ” The angry declaration drops off at the end and Grant knows Skye’s finally come far enough to see he’s not hiding where she thought.

He heaves the sliding door open. “Don’t!” he barks, but she’s not as off-balance as he’d hoped. She darts for the stairs, bent low to make the most of Lola’s short profile.

He doesn’t waste breath cursing—he needs all he’s got for the pain that shoots through him when he shifts from the low crouch the back of the van demands to standing properly in a single lunge so he can pursue her.

But it’s a waste. She’s not heading upstairs, she’s only using them as cover.

She makes a single, wild shot that takes out one of the van windows behind him. He lifts his own gun. A standard issue 9mm. He knew it by feel before he saw it. Fuck. He really wanted an ICER.

“Skye,” he says, trying to keep his voice level. “I get how you feel. I felt the _same way_ when I found out that Garrett-”

“Bullshit! I told you, I found Koenig.”

“That wasn’t me,” Grant says, lowering his gun slightly to help prove it. Not _far_ , but a little. “Maybe it was May-”

Skye scoffs and- yeah. He really wasn’t expecting anyone to buy that.

“Maybe it was Koenig,” he says. “SciTech division just came out with these masks that let you assume someone else’s face. Word around the Fridge was Black Widow used one to pull off her data dump.”

“Oh?” Skye asks and for just a second hope swells in Grant’s chest that maybe- “You had time to chit-chat with the guards while you were fighting for your lives against dozens of escaped gifteds?”

Before Grant can work through his annoyance to find an answer for that, movement in the corner of his eye catches his vision. _No_ …

“Simmons!” he calls in his most authoritative _we are in the field and you will do what I say_ voice. “Go back to bed!”

She’s like a ghost stumbling from the doorway to the nearest lab bench. She leans heavily on it, sliding down its length.

“Simmons, do as he says!”

This might be good. Skye’s so freaked, Grant might be able to make a move. Of course, he’s freaked too. Should Simmons really be out of bed? She literally passed out right in front of him day before yesterday. For half a second there, he’d been ready to tear Koenig apart, thinking the unknown variable was the most likely cause, but then Trip said she was running a fever and chalked it up to poor self-care. Which, frankly, is just so Simmons he’s surprised this is the first time it’s happened since he met her.

“Wha-” Simmons blinks at them both. It’s eerie, seeing someone who’s usually so damn fast on the uptake thinking at half-speed. “What’s going on? Are we in danger?” She tries to look around like she expects to find their real target hidden somewhere behind her.

The move nearly loses her her feet and Grant has to check an instinctive desire to go to her.

Skye is more on the ball than he is. She uses his distraction to step out from behind the stairs. She keeps her weapon up—he’d be proud of that if his strict training weren’t biting him in the ass right now—and keeps moving until she’s put herself between him and Simmons. He resists the urge to roll his eyes. Even if Simmons _weren’t_ his friend—which she is—she’s _Jemma fucking Simmons_. She’s too valuable to kill just for a tactical advantage.

“Ward is Hydra,” Skye says. That _fuck you_ expression she’s wearing says exactly what she thinks of him now. “He’s kidnapping us.”

“He’s- What?” Simmons’ expression—lost and scared—cuts at him from over Skye’s shoulder, but he doesn’t let himself feel it.

“Skye,” he says. He’s got plans for how to do this, how to ease her in to knowing the real him. He just thought it’d happen at a Centipede base where she had no choice but to listen, not when she was aiming a gun at his head. “You know what it’s like, not to have anyone-”

“You are _not_ about to give me the ‘we’re the same’ speech.”

“We _are_ the same.” It’s not a speech or a play. They are. She knows they are. She’s just shocked right now but she’ll understand.

Disgust twists her face but clears as quickly as it came, leaving her cold and emotionless. “You know, I think you’re right.”

He drops just in time.

“Skye!” Simmons shrieks as bullets fly.

The mats he leaves down for training ease his roll and it’s his turn to take cover behind the spiral staircase. It’s not a great position, but Skye’s is. A couple careful shots and he might be able to drive her back into the lab. If he can do that, get out from behind here, seal the lab off…

Simmons has woken up for real, but she’s no less pale. She clutches at Skye’s shoulders while she tries to shrug her off. “Skye, it’s _Ward_ ,” she pleads.

“And he’s _Hydra_. You heard him.”

Simmons looks to him. “Are- are you?” Her voice shakes and Grant really hates that little wobble in her lip. It reminds him of Morocco, when she woke up on the boat and all the things she’d been burying while she fought to save her own life came back up at once.

He could try to lie. Simmons hasn’t heard him confess, not really, and her uncertainty can only help him with distracting Skye.

But there’s the after to think about. It’s gonna be hard enough turning them. Lying now will only make that harder.

“Yeah, Simmons, I am. I was Hydra before I was SHIELD.”

“Oh.” Her gaze drops and Grant feels his heart go with it.

“But I’m not going to hurt you. Either of you.”

Skye mutters what he guesses is a curse.

“I’m _not_ ,” he insists. “Garrett just wants the hard drive unlocked and because it’s location based, I need Skye to tell me where to go. I’m guessing the diner was a lie?”

“Oh, you do _not_ get to be judgy about _one lie_ -”

“And she’s gonna tell me where,” he says over her, eyes fixed on Simmons, “because the only other way to get the info we need on GH-325 is, well-” He smiles gently in that way that always used to make her blush. It doesn’t work of course, but he doesn’t need it to—yet. “You.”

Skye’s throat works. That revelation’s taken her off-guard. And it just might get him what he needs.

“Don’t worry,” she says, not quite as firm as she has been, “I won’t tell him where to go.”

“Skye, think about this-”

“I am! What? You think I’m dumb enough to believe you’re just gonna let us go once you get the hard drive unlocked? What are you doing?” That last part is for Simmons. She’s moved off, back into the lab, and is searching the drawers.

“There’s an ICER in here somewhere. I rather think I should have a weapon if we’re to have any chance of surviving a standoff with our team specialist, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Skye says slowly. She focuses on Grant again before he can use her distraction to make a move. She smiles at him, more bloodthirsty than he’s ever seen her. “And an ICER means I don’t have to worry about hurting you. You never did get to teaching me about _interrogation_ techniques. Guess I’ll have to self-teach.”

Grant was thinking the same. Not about the prospect of being ineptly tortured by Skye, about the ICER. If he can’t get Skye to corner herself in the lab, he might be able to get her moving in another direction. Simmons is still so slow, he’d be able to overtake her easily and disarm her.

“What?” Skye asks in response to something Grant can’t hear from his position. “Did you find some miracle invention of Fitz’s that’ll help us out?”

“I’m just wondering,” Simmons says while lifting a plain, old ICER out of the drawer. “What did you mean ‘don’t worry’? If the alternative is being tortured for answers, I should think I’d be more likely to worry about that than you giving up the hard drive to Hydra.”

Grant could kick himself for not seeing it sooner. “Because it’s not GPS at all,” he says. “Simmons’ least favorite place, right? It’ll only unlock at thirty-five thousand feet.”

“Oh no,” Simmons says, her wide eyes darting between them while she takes up a position at Skye’s seven o'clock. “He’s right, isn’t he?”

Skye’s expression answers for her.

“Don’t look so scared,” Grant says quickly. “I told you, I’m not gonna hurt either of you. There’s still a place in Hydra for you, Skye.”

“As if I would _ever_ -”

The soft _thwap_ of an ICER firing, along with its accompanying flash, cuts off Skye and she drops to the floor.

Simmons, looking sadder than ever, stares down at her. “Sorry.”

She tosses her ICER onto the lab bench behind her and stumbles into one of the desk chairs at the side of the room.

Not quite sure what to make of this turn of events, Grant takes his time coming out from his hiding place. Skye doesn’t move, even when he toes the gun out of her hand and kicks it beneath Lola, so maybe it’s not a trick. But what it is then, he has no idea.

When he steps into the lab doorway, Simmons lifts her head from her arms to give him a weak smile. “Hail Hydra.”

“No.” There is just- No. No way. “You can’t lie,” he reminds her.

She sits up, stretching her arms high above her head. Her blouse is still open from the EKG leads Trip had hooked up to her and, even with Grant’s probably-ex almost-girlfriend not five feet away, he can’t help that his eyes drop. Someone thought to take off her bra at some point while she was out. It was a good call.

“The thing about that,” she says, tiredness making her more patient than she’d usually be with an explanation, “is up until quite recently SHIELD’s thought Hydra was long buried. People don’t generally _ask_ if you’re Hydra. Or they didn’t.” She rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed to have had that change on her.

He feels like an idiot for the hundredth time today. “You knew Koenig was gonna question us. You infected yourself with Raina’s virus-”

“ _My_ virus.” She pouts angrily. It’s kinda cute. “ _I_ synthesized that virus. It’s one of my better ones, if I do say so myself.”

 _Ones_ , Grant mouths. Just how many diseases has she created for Hydra?

“You’re hurt,” she says, nodding to his arm.

“Yeah.” He lifts his shoulder, examining the wound. It’s down by his elbow and, now there’s no reason to, he’d rather not move the joint until it’s taken care of. “Skye got a lucky shot off before I realized she knew.”

“Sloppy.” Simmons sets a medkit down on the nearest lab bench and he obediently takes a seat beside her, his uninjured arm resting on his knee, hand out so he can catch her hip if she wavers; she’s still damn pale.

As he can’t argue her assessment, he says, “No one told me you were Hydra.”

“Likely for the same reason no one told me you were.” She levels a mocking stare at him. “I _can’t lie_.”

“But, like you said, Hydra’s never gonna come up-”

“But Centipede would have. And if I knew you were in league with them…”

“You would’ve blown all our covers. Right. Makes sense.” He chooses not to point out that _he_ wouldn’t have been dumb enough to tell her about John’s side operation or about John at all.

“You’re lucky. This went through quite cleanly. You’ll want to be easy on that elbow for a while though.”

Somehow he doesn’t think that’ll be much of an option. He’s still John’s number one and there’s a lot of mayhem to cause these days.

“I don’t do well around my fellow Hydra agents,” Simmons says, speaking to him while she does the painful work of cleaning out the wound. “Not unless we’re in Hydra controlled territory where there’s no fear of exposure, otherwise I get flustered with thoughts of guarding what I say and do, and things have a habit of going quite poorly. Just ask Sitwell.”

The Sitwell Incident, as the team’s come to refer to it, was always funnier than he could let himself admit while undercover. Simmons struggling to lie, talking on comms in front of her mark, somehow getting the drop on a level 8 agent with her failed field assessment? Comedy gold. But now? Knowing that Sitwell likely had to _let it happen_ because once he knew Skye was listening, he knew Simmons had to get out of that situation in the fastest way possible or risk starting the uprising all on her own, is the funniest damn thing he’s heard in a long time. So Grant laughs. Even with his broken ribs and Simmons’ instruments in his arm and Skye’s hatred sleeping just outside the lab. He can’t help it.

“Man, that’s priceless. I can’t wait to tell John.”

“So we’re rendezvousing with Garrett then?” She says it carelessly enough while she readies the first suture, but like she said, she can’t lie.

“That gonna be a problem?”

She hums low in her throat.

He studies her carefully, considering. She’s still easy as ever to read, but there’s a whole side of her he knows nothing about now. It’s time he got started.

“Who do you hail?”

She pulls a face, obviously as uncomfortable with that terminology as he is. “Malick.”

“Malick?” He whistles. The guy’s got more money than god. He could fund her most wild research ideas for the next thousand years. If Malick’s her head, that means SHIELD’s an assignment for her, same as for him, which sets them on some comfortably even footing. “He’s-”

“A lunatic.” Simmons pulls the last stitch a little more tightly than necessary. “He appears sensible, but once you rise high enough you learn he’s interested in the more occult aspects of Hydra’s origins.” She snips her thread and sets her instruments aside. “Why do you think I remain in SHIELD when I could have access to his vast resources?”

Grant always knew there were some loonies out there. John’s mentioned once or twice Hydra started out as a fringe Nazi cult. He didn’t think any of them had any real power though.

Huh. He files the knowledge away for later and stands.

“So I’m guessing you won’t be sorry to transfer?”

“And get to work on the GH-325 freely? Absolutely not.” She beams up at him. Actually beams. No distrust or anger or any of what he saw on Skye’s face earlier.

He rolls his shoulder, feeling the sting of his wound and the echo of her fingers on his skin. He always knew Simmons would be the easier one to turn, maybe she also should’ve been the one he wanted to turn more.

“How long until we arrive?”

Now Grant knows she’s not at death’s door, there’s no reason not to go straight to Cuba. That’s where the samples are, that’s where John is. It’s also about three times as long a flight as just heading for the nearest Cybertek offices.

He grabs the ICER and shoots Skye twice more. “A while.”

Simmons lets out a note of distress but it’s nowhere near the anger she exhibited when Skye was shooting at him. He eases it with a squeeze of her upper arm and lets his fingers trail down to linger on her wrist.

“But you can unlock the hard drive before we’ve gone too far,” he asks, “get started with what’s there?”

Just like it always does when he shows the slightest bit of interest in her, that blush appears on her cheeks. “I can do that.”

He squeezes her wrist and leans in, just a little. “Great. I’ll get us in the air then. I’ll tell you when we hit thirty-five thousand feet.”

That wipes out the blush, he’s sorry to say. Skye wasn’t kidding about her lingering issues with heights.

She must _hate_ working for Malick to have stayed this long.

Grant drags Skye across the floor and cuffs her to the stairs, just to be safe. At the first turn, he catches sight of Simmons sitting in front of Skye’s laptop. He left his gun in there and he sees her stretch her fingers out to brush the grip. A faint smile lightens her face and that blush returns, just for a second.

Oh yeah. Definitely the easier target. He hasn’t given up on Skye, not just yet, but it’s nice to know he’s got options.


End file.
